Asphodel, Harebell, Zinnia, and Bay Leaf
by selenemaree
Summary: A chance meeting in a graveyard 10 years later, reunites a grieving big brother with someone he never thought he would see again. Non-powered AU.


So, this is my first time really publishing anything. I mean, I've done a few poems and first POV stuff, but that's simple. So here goes nothing. I may expand on this story at some other date, but it's not particularly likely.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any member of the Black family. I do own Geneva.

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The quiet of the somber graveyard suited his mood. His uncharacteristic look of self-introspection was marred by the redness, just starting to fade from his eyes, easily signifying that he had spent a significant time crying. He was crouched next to a small but ornate grave, lightly fingering the name. He had not brought any flowers with him, knowing that the man beneath him, slowly decomposing, would have no desire for such a garish gesture. After all, he was only 19 when he went to his grave.

A young woman leaned against a nearby by cherry tree, where the blossoms floated around her but did not obscure her view of the man still kneeling. She carefully looked him over. He was in his late 20's, early 30's with black chin-length hair. He was undoubtedly handsome in his clean-cut clothes with yesterday's stubble giving him a rugged appearance. Slowly, she pushed off the tree and sauntered towards him. Despite the high heels she was wearing, she approached unheard and when she leaned down to place the bouquet of flowers, he startled. She smiled sadly upon seeing the red rims of his grey eyes and spoke, "He wouldn't want you to do this to yourself." A bitter laugh was her only answer. She leaned down placing a gentle kiss on her fingers and then touched them to the headstone. As she turned to leave, a pale hand grabbed her wrist.

He gazed up at her and for the first time since she was a little girl, really looked at her. He looked at her curly chestnut hair with blonde highlights. He looked at her questioning gold eyes. He looked at the woman just out of her teenage years and saw for the first time that she wasn't the little girl he pulled away from her mother's dead body. He took a deep breath in and let it out. His voice was slightly hoarse as he voiced his inquiry, "How would you know?"

"How would I know what?" she drawled, tilting her head to the side.

"How would you know what he would want?" he clarified. A small, sorrowful chuckle rose up in her throat. "I know because he was the closest thing I had to a brother. I know that he was actually your little brother, but he always treated me like his little sister. After my mother died he sat with me while I cried and cried. He took me to my mother's grave and made me sit down. He said that she would always love me and would be horrified that I was punishing myself for her choices. My mother chose to protect me with her life. Your brother chose to protect you with his silence. If he had spoken out, you both would have died. He made the choice his soul could live with."

"But what about the choice my soul has to live with? I have to know each and every day of my life that my little brother – my little brother! – felt the need to save me? I was supposed to protect him! He was supposed to outlive me! He was always the good one, the smart one! Me? I've always been the reckless, impulsive one with authority issues! Never him. My poor, sweet, little brother…" He lunged to his feet shouting at her. She stood there impassively staring at him. "Why? He knew better, he knew better than to get involved in that sort of thing. And I should have known enough to see the signs. I was – am – a police officer! My baby brother." The tears he had been struggling to regain control over finally burst from his eyes and in two quick steps she was beside him holding him tight. As they sank to the ground, she refused to let go. Her arms were tightly wound around his body and she was left wondering how long he had held this in. How long had he forced himself to be strong in front of his friends?

Quietly she began to hum an old lullaby her mother sang to her before she died. Since her mother died when she was four, she never learned the words but the melody had haunted her dreams. When she came to the grave today, she had no clue she would see this man. She had only met him twice before: at the scene of her mother's murder, and his brother's funeral. She knew he was both a proud and a brave man. She also knew he did not like the injustice of the world and it was only that that allowed him to deal with the authority of the government in his job. Yet, the thing about him that she knew absolutely without doubt was that he would be ashamed of his break down here just as he was at the funeral. So she just held him tight and hummed her mother's melody.

She lost track of the time as she rocked back and forth. Soon enough, her legs started to cramp and her arms became sore but she refused to let him go. And when his sobs quieted down, she stopped humming and started talking. She spoke softly and gently, careful not to upset him, of his brother. She spoke of how he used to pick her up and toss her through the air, how he used to sneak into her room at night with ice cream when she was grounded, how he used to buy her the most ridiculous hats, and how he broke the nose of the father of the boy who pushed her so hard she broke her arm. When she exhausted the superficial details of what he had done for her, she moved on to the deeper ones. She spoke of how he got her grandfather arrested for abusing her and how he made sure she always had what she needed for school.

When he came back to the present, he was not entirely certain how he wound up cradled in her arms, nor was he certain how they came to be sitting on the ground. As even more awareness came to him, he heard her speaking. "…..and then he told my grandfather that he didn't care how much money he had, abuse is still a crime. With that he grabbed me and my suit case and drove us both to the police station. He refused to let me out of his sightline until my grandfather was in custody. And proceeded to shout at the officer who said I was making it up for money. Like anyone would be willing to have multiple rib fractures, a sprained wrist, a dislocated shoulder, and a concussion for money that they would eventually inherit. Miserable old man." He remembered his brother ranting about this – about how the man who was supposed to protect and cherish her, did anything but. Even though he was regaining more and more control over himself, he let her continue to ramble on. When her soothing story telling slowed he lifted his head and reluctantly untangled himself from her body. She looked inquisitively at him, "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." His voice came out gravelly. She stood up, brushed the grass off of her skirt, and held her hand out to help him up. The sun was setting upon the pair throwing the grave that they both came visit into both greater relief and greater shadow. Once again she pressed her fingers to her lips and then to the grave. Staring at the grave, she spoke firmly, "You knew your brother better than anyone; do you really think that he would appreciate you wasting a whole day just to commemorate the 10th anniversary of his death? He would prefer you to celebrate the 19 years he lived." Spinning sharply, she turned on her heel and walked away from the grave towards the world outside of the graveyard. She stopped 50 feet away and turned slightly. The sunset highlighted the blonde in her hair and made the red blaze. She called out one last thing, "And Sirius? Perhaps we can see each other a little more often than every few years at a tragic event?" Sirius watched her turn around and finish exiting the graveyard. Her parting shot struck something deep inside him that he had never considered before. A smile appeared on his face for the first time that day, considering both her suggestion and the fact that she let her French accent bleed through during the suggestion.

"Perhaps? Most certainly we will Geneva. I'll make sure of it." With that decision made, Sirius copied the gesture Geneva had made earlier kissing his fingers and then pressing them Regulus's grave stone, and set out into the setting sun. The graveyard was now empty and the grave of a bright young man, whose life was cut too soon, was left in peace with an unusual bouquet of asphodel, harebell, zinnia, and bay leaf.


End file.
